Amara didn't hesitate. She took a third step, then a fourth, her pace quickening. She wasn't running out of fear; she was walking out of pure, cold indifference. She didn't care if he lived or died anymore, she just wanted her life back.
"Amara, stop!" Seb's voice finally cracked as she reached the fifth step. "Don't you have even a drop of pity left for me?"
"I used up all my pity for you seven years ago, Seb," she said without turning around.
Seb's hand trembled as he reached for the fifth glass. There were only two left. The odds were now 50/50. His heart hammered against his ribs. He had expected her to break, to cry, to beg him to stop. Instead, he was staring at the back of a woman who was already gone in her mind.
He raised the glass to his lips, his eyes watering. He was about to drink when the heavy glass doors of the terrace were suddenly blown inward.
